


Resignation

by ZephyrOfAllTrades



Series: Put It in Writing [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Drunk ramblings, I don't know how else to tag this, That's it, writing a resignation letter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZephyrOfAllTrades/pseuds/ZephyrOfAllTrades
Summary: “I was thinking of sending them a letter.”“Letter?” the demon asked blankly.“Yes, dear, letter. Of resignation that is,” he wiggled, terribly pleased with his idea.“Right, so you’re thinking of sending the archangel fucking Gabriel a resignation letter to make them stop sending you all those memos.”“Yes.”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Put It in Writing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805059
Comments: 14
Kudos: 91





	Resignation

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for the amazingly supportive people of the Ineffable husbands-Fanfictions Reader and Writer-AO3 Facebook group. You know who you are. :)
> 
> I did my best to put in your comments in the dialogue. Let's see if you can find yours. :))

The bell tinkled merrily as Crowley entered the bookshop for their now-regular evening drinks. It would sometimes follow a dinner in this or that restaurant somewhere in the city but after the excitement brought about by Armageddon, they’ve silently agreed to eat in more often with deliveries, take outs or occasional experiments. Aziraphale had even decided to free the kitchen in the flat (storage) upstairs for extra dining space. But in all his time wandering the angel’s earthly home, he had never felt his skin prickle as it was doing currently. It had always projected a sense of welcoming comfort to him.

Curious and very much annoyed, he tracked down the source of his unease. It had the stench of bleached holiness, the same smell that hung around Aziraphale after he’d visited head office. He finally found what he was looking for in the waste paper basket by Aziraphale’s desk. The angel, dutifully bending over his ledgers on said desk, looked up at his approach. Crowley had given up questioning his perfect taxes and usually left him with his work until he was done, but this time he had a question to ask.

“Angel, can you tell me why your bin feels holier than consecrated ground?”

“I suppose those would be from the Heaven’s missives I keep getting in the mail,” he shrugged turning back to his figures.

“No wonder it stinks in here,” Crowley sneered at the perfectly crisp and pristine envelopes by the angel’s feet.

“So, my new cologne isn’t as effective then,” the angel said lightly, giving his double rule a good flourishing stroke and took his glasses off. “I’ll have a word with my barber the next time I visit.”

“We’ve been through this. You know we’ve been through this,” the demon grumbled in exasperation. “I know what you smell like. And what you smell like is a far cry from this pile of shite right here.”

“My apologies, my dear,” Aziraphale stood and herded the glaring demon towards the steps leading to the flat. “I have been meaning to throw them out but the last bundle I did was far too potently holy that the waste collectors found themselves miraculously employed into high-paying corporate jobs the next day.” The way both angel and demon wrinkled their noses indicated that the news was more a curse than a blessing.

“A spark of hellfire could do the trick,” Crowley offered as he settled in his seat at the dining table.

“Not near the books!” the angel wailed clutching the bottle of wine he was pouring into their glasses.

“For fuck’s sake! Of course, I’m not doing it inside the shop. Seeing it burn once was enough,” he jumped up taking the wine from the pouting, but relieved, angel and took a healthy swig straight from the bottle. “You have a very serviceable alley out back, although it would probably be best to take it somewhere farther out just in case.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve gone to the countryside. We could make a day of it!” Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled, exchanging the bottle with a glass.

“Fancy you getting excited over burning paper,” the demon snorted. They carded through the waiting boxes of food on the table and settled into their dinner.

“So,” Crowley started as the blonde was finishing off his dessert, the permeating sense of domesticity not enough to disperse the question burning at the back of his mind. “Why are you getting mail from Upstairs?”

“They’re just memos, Crowley,”

“But why are you still getting memos? Last I checked, they were supposed to leave you alone,” he frowned and continued tensely, “Unless…”

Aziraphale cocked his head confused until he understood the implications of the statement his friend could not finish. “Heavens no!” and the vehemence in his tone settled the knot of worry that settled in the demon’s stomach. “They’re mostly reminders of miracles to be performed and the reports I’ve yet to send up these last few months after Armageddon.”

“I’m not sure how many more times I can ask this, but WHY?!” the demon looked livid. “They wanted to permanently kill you but is now expecting you to work for their sorry arses without so much as a sorry?”

“Yep,” the angel said eloquently, filling his glass. “Pretty much.”

“And you’re just going to let them walk all over you?”

“You may recall, my dear, that you found them with the rubbish.”

Crowley hummed at the statement and calmed down enough to tip off his own glass. But Aziraphale could still hear his teeth grinding together.

“Don’t worry Crowley. I’m on _our_ side now, remember?” he said patting the demon’s hand on the table. “I’m not going back,” he said a little more firmly when the red-head kept silent. “Besides, I have a plan. And I was hoping you could help me with it.”

“Oh? Please pray tell of this most glorious plan of yours,” he said dramatically, but there was interest in his posture.

“I was thinking of sending them a letter.”

“Letter?” the demon asked blankly.

“Yes, dear, letter. Of resignation that is,” he wiggled, terribly pleased with his idea.

“Right, so you’re thinking of sending the archangel fucking Gabriel a resignation letter to make them stop sending you all those memos.”

“Yes.”

“D’you actually think that’s going to work?”

“There’s nothing wrong in trying, dear boy,” he huffed defensively. “Besides, seeing as they’re sticklers when it comes paperwork, I thought it would do good to go a little traditional.”

“Yeah, fine. Get us another bottle of two, will you?” he sighed, standing up to head back down to the backroom of the shop, itching to sprawl on the worn-out couch. “I think we’re going to need a little more brainstorming juice.”

-five bottles later-

**“So…*burp* Wah- Wahav we got ssso far?”**

“Er….*squinting at a scribbled piece of paper* Dear Gabriel.”

**“Whyda haf to call him ‘dear.’ He’s not a dear. Uhm, is he a deer?”**

“A what?”

**“The one’s with the – the whatd’ya call them – branches?”**

“Uhm, stick?”

**“Pfft… in his bum, yeah.”**

-seven bottles later-

“Dear Gabriel…”

***groans***

“Sh-shut up *giggles*. Just - just listen: Stop sending me memos. I don’t want to work for you anymore. You’ve been a very, very, _verrryyy,_ bad angel.” *claps his hands for successfully reading aloud three whole sentences*

***snort* “Fuck you!”**

“Me?”

**“No! Not you! Him! Uh… Gabriel. Write it down on your paper thihhgy.”**

“Oh!. But that’s disrep- dispec-.. er… rude!”

-ten bottles later-

**“Should I write one, too?”**

“To Gabriel?!”

**“To Hell, angel. Hell. My own resin- resigti- quitting letter.”**

“What’re you going to write?”

**“Uhhhh…. ‘Tough shit. Ciao!’”**

-who’s counting anyway?-

**“Y-Yaknow those - those, the – uhm, the bin. Er… the big tall ones, yeah?”**

*nods enthusiastically*

**“The-they fill ‘em up, see.. wi-with…things.”**

“Things?”

**“Yeah, like, ngk. Guh, like flags…”**

“What color are they?”

**“Color?”**

“Flags are colorful.”

**“Er… red? I guess. Doesn’t matter.”**

“Wha-what about the flags?”

**“They put them in the big bins. Then they light ‘em up! Like fwoosh! Fire everywhere. Well… not everywhere. In the bins.”**

“They float, you know….”

**“The flags?”**

“The bins… saw ‘em. Just there, bobbing on the flooded street… going weeeeee… towards the corner.”

**“Yeah… burning bin… whooshing down the waterway….”**

Shaking their last bottle, and scanning the room with a concentrated look, Aziraphale thought it best to sober up. He grumbled. He grunted as he expelled the alcohol out of his system.

“Yer nooo fun….” came the still slurring demon. “I think I’ma just sssleeeep for a bit.”

“Don’t blame me for the hangover you’re getting tomorrow,” the angel tutted, coming over to his friend to pull his shoes off and drape a quilt over his already snoring form. He then tiptoed in between bottles to reach his desk, carded through the drawers for paper and pen and began drafting his letter.

* * *

Later that same day, on a clinically clean office table, there appeared a cream envelope addressed to the Archangel Gabriel. Inside was a letter which read:

_Gabriel,_

_I hope this finds you well despite its gloomy subject matter._

_Please accept it as a formal notice of my resignation from the Heavenly Host effective immediately. This letter may seem far too rushed but I never intended to pen it in the first place. Unfortunately, it appears that my performance the day after Armageddon was supposed to happen, had not been sufficient enough to carry the message across._

_I doubt you have forgotten the details but, just in case, may I reiterate the matter which had solidified my decision: I, along with my dear friend, Crowley, had been subjected to your petty retaliation for ‘going against the Great Plan’ and your intended war with Hell. In the proceedings, I had been trussed up, held against my will and subjected to what would have likely been my ultimate demise had I not acquired proper immunity._

_To be honest, I had believed that my non-trial and direct execution was blatant proof that you wished to be rid of me. I doubt you’ve missed my presence already in these short months but with the sudden influx of Heaven-sent memorandums I found littering my desk, it appears you still need a pathetic excuse for an angel like me._

_Despite the flattery, please understand that I am quite firm with my choice so please refrain from including me in the miracle schedules and the guardian angelship roster, including all other administrative plans you have lined up, for I shall no longer be a part of them._

_Will I regret my decision for severing myself from your tyrannical hold? Goodness, no! I dare say I’ve earned the right to leave the slavery you’ve subjected me to._

_And so, I wish you, your paperwork and your deadlines a good bye. May you (finally) have a more interesting life without me._

_Sincerely,_

_**Aziraphale** _

_Former Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden_

_Resident Principality of Earth_

Tucked alongside the letter was a square of expensive black card stock. The front had, in white print, the message: Condolences. I’m sorry for your loss.

The back, however, held a scratchy scarlet-inked note of: “Not really sorry you’ve lost the best angel there is. More for me. Manage your own bullcrap from now on.”

There was no signature.

* * *

Back in a bookshop in Soho, a demon and an angel were enjoying a late but scrumptious breakfast.

“That was a new level of bitchiness for you angel,” Crowley managed, cradling his third cup of coffee, his hangover lessening with each gulp of the reviving liquid his angel kept made for him.

“I had been meaning to tell them so for centuries now,” Aziraphale said in between nibbles of a chocolate croissant.

“Even the part of me being your dear friend?” the red-head peeked from behind the rim of his cup.

The angel nearly choked on his pastry but managed to steady himself with hasty gulp of (thankfully-not-scalding-anymore) tea. “Of course,” he said blushing. “I just… didn’t have enough courage to do so before,” he smiled shyly.

“I know, angel,” the demon said with a small smile of his own. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna make a series out of this. I'ma include the other prompts. Not fully thought out but I've got an inkling of how. ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the read! <3


End file.
